A Curious Christmas Incident
by starlit seductress
Summary: I know cursed mistletoe fics are really cliche, but I think I've put a new spin on it. I hope you like! eventual DHr WiP
1. Chapter 1

Hermione eyed the two boughs of mistletoe hanging from the dungeon ceiling with apprehension as she followed Harry and Ron into potions. Some unknown perpetrator had placed an abundance of the cursed plant at various locations around the castle, and not one of the teachers, nor Dumbledore himself, seemed to be able to remove the new decorations. Though Hermione suspected that Dumbledore hadn't tried very hard, as she'd seen McGonagall inform him of the situation and noticed the amused glint that appeared in his eyes. Yes, it was, in fact, a _cursed_ plant, holding any two people who happened to walk under it at the same time hostage until they obliged tradition and kissed. The night before, while consoling a traumatized Ginny Weasley after the redhead was forced into a liplock with some scowling Slytherin first year, Hermione had decided that this mistletoe culprit had a very twisted sense of Christmas spirit.

Everyone was careful to avoid the botanical danger as they made their way to their seats, except for Parvati Patil and Seamus Finnigan, who hadn't been able to keep their hands off each other for the past month anyway. They tried to pass it off as an accident, but Snape, though an evil git, could not be called stupid, and deducted thirty points from Gryffindor. After this incident was settled, Snape stalked to the front of the room and scribbled some instructions on the board.

"Today, you incompetent idiots will be attempting to make an antidote for a hippogriff bite. The instructions are on page 153. Try not to blow up the castle. Get started already, then."

Hermione, Ron, and Harry grimaced at each other; Snape was in an even more foul mood than usual. Hermione began shredding ginger root. At one point, Ron spilled an entire cup of murtlap essence on himself, and Hermione giggled. At the sound, Snape whipped around.

"Miss Granger! Is it too much to ask to not disturb the entire class with your noise? Ten points from Gryffindor! Another sound out of you and it'll be detention!"

Hermione scowled and clenched her hand around the ginger root, imagining wistfully that it was Snape's neck. She managed a smile at Ron, who patted her on the back in sympathy as he cleaned himself up, and carefully measured out a cup of ginger root and poured it into her cauldron. Adding a cup of murtlap essence, three dead spiders, and various other ingredients, she began mixing the antidote.

As Hermione was giving her antidote a final stir, she heard Draco Malfoy laughing raucously at something one of his Slytherin cohorts had said. She glanced at Snape, but of course he ignored it as he continued to demand of Neville Longbottom why the boy's potion was a brilliant shade of aquamarine rather than the correct dark blue. Angry bile rose up in Hermione's throat, and her pulse quickened. Damn that Draco Malfoy! He thought he could get away with anything just because he was a Slytherin with a power-hungry bastard for a father! Snape had deducted points from her for a tiny giggle, and deliberately ignored it when Malfoy really _was_ creating a disturbance. She hoped Malfoy would laugh so hard he'd choke himself to death. That it was really only Snape's fault for being a hypocrite Hermione chose to ignore, as she bottled a sample of her antidote and simmered with fury towards the smug blonde.

As the bell finally rang, Hermione gave a sigh of relief as she packed up her things and she, Ron, and Harry practically ran towards the door. She was so intent on getting out of that dungeon that she didn't notice Harry stopping abruptly until she heard his cry of horror. She spun around, her mouth dropping open and a whimper escaping her mouth. Harry was trapped under the mistletoe with Millicent Bulstrode. The large Slytherin girl wore a similar expression of disgusted disbelief. Whispers and giggles broke out here and there among the throng of students, all of whom had stopped to watch the scene unfolding under the cursed plant. Harry uttered a word which caused Snape to snap, "Language, Potter!" and deduct yet another ten points from Gryffindor. Hermione continued to gape in horror, overflowing with sympathy for Harry. Both Harry and Millicent were struggling futilely to break from the plant's invisible grip. Finally Snape erupted,"Oh, for crying out loud. You both know what that infernal plant wants you to do. Just get on with it and get out of my classroom!"

Neither of the mistletoe's victims obliged, as they continued to eye each other as one might look upon a particularly filthy garden gnome. Then, a sneering voice caused Hermione to tear her eyes away from her friend's predicament for the first time.

"Yeah, Potter", Draco Malfoy cackled, his voice trembling with cruel mirth. "You should be thrilled at this opportunity; it's probably the only kiss you're ever going to get."

Hermione balled her fists and snarled. She'd had enough of that Slytherin's tricks. Her fervent desire at this moment was to wipe that smug, infuriating smirk off his face, and this was the only thought going through her mind as she charged at him and shoved him under the other mistletoe plant. A collective gasp issued from every Gryffindor and every Slytherin mouth in the room. Even Harry and Millicent seemed to have forgotten about their own situation, as they and everyone else gaped at Hermione in utter shock. Hermione shook her head dazedly. What had she just _done_? A foot across from her, Malfoy was slack-jawed, breathing in shallow heaves, his flashing silver eyes bulging out of his head as he stared at her with even more horror than anyone else.

"Are…you…bloody…MENTAL!" Malfoy started the sentence on a disbelieving whisper and roared the last word so loudly even Snape flinched. For the first time in her life, Hermione was inclined to agree with Draco Malfoy. Surely she _was_ bloody mental.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: All characters belong to the extraordinary J.K. Rowling. 

Hermione teetered on her feet, sick at the knowledge that the only way she was going to walk out of this dungeon was having kissed the hateful blond standing in front of her. And even worse, if that was possible - it was entirely her own doing! Surely this was just some bizarre nightmare. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and wished herself out of the dream...but when she opened her eyes, Malfoy was still staring at her with disgusted loathing, the class was still silently fixated on them, and Snape was now huffing in thorough impatience.  
"Come on already, we haven't got all day! The four of you "- he gestured to both mistletoe boughs and their respective pairs of victims -hurry up and get it over with, and all of you get out of my classroom!" he finished with a snarl.  
Several feet away from Hermione, Harry gulped audibly. He was rather desperate to get out of this dungeon, and the only way that was going to happen was for him to shudder kiss Bulstrode. He'd survived multiple murder attempts by Voldemort, surely he could deal with kissing a girl, Harry tried to joke with himself. He shook his head in annoyance. No, that wasn't working. Regardless, he knew there was no way around it...cringing, Harry took a step closer to Millicent, whose eyes widened in fear under her bushy eyebrows.  
"C'mon, I don't like it any better than you do, but you know we've got no choice", Harry muttered crossly to the Slytherin, who now wore an expression of abject terror in place of her customary scowl. Harry squared his shoulders and tried to summon his Gryffindor courage, which seemed to have gone on holiday. He brushed his lips against Millicent's, harder than he intended to in his haste to get it over with, and stumbled away, retching, caught by Ron's steadying hand. Snape turned to the second pair, presumably to order them to follow suit and get out, but before he could utter a word, Malfoy pointed wildly at him and said, "Get me out from under here right this bloody instant!"

Snape narrowed his eyes at being spoken to in this manner, but merely said, "Unfortunately, Mr. Malfoy, the scoundrel who is responsible for the presence of these appalling plants has ensured that they will accomplish their evil purpose. Surely you know that I as well as all of my colleagues have tried our best to remove it, without success. It does not seem to be within my power to remove the mistletoe, or to release any person who has had the misfortune to become caught under it."

Malfoy glared impatiently at his house's Head. "I don't care who does it, or how they do it. All I know is, somebody better get me away from this filthy Mudblood, and they better do it soon!"

Through her shock and disgust with her own actions, Hermione felt a surge of renewed anger at Malfoy's use of the slur. Though it was far from the first time he'd ridiculed her because of her ancestry, every time she was struck by the unfairness of Pureblood prejudice. She was purported to be an inferior witch - indeed, not a real witch at all - because she happened to be of Muggle parentage, and yet, she was a better student of magic than most of her peers, Pureblood, Muggle-born, or anywhere in between.  
Hermione glared ferociously at Malfoy, who had resumed ranting at Snape. "I am not kissing a Mudblood. Absolutely not. End of story. I'll stay here forever before I degrade myself like that."

Snape rolled his eyes. "You'll have to arrange somebody to bring your meals, then", he said dryly. Malfoy ignored this, and turned to scowl at Hermione again.  
"Don't you _dare_ glare at _me_ like that, Granger. You're the one who did this. Who would've guessed that the Mudblood Granger fancies me?" Hermione sputtered in outrage, but Malfoy ignored her and continued. "You know, I'd be flattered if you weren't such a filthy Mudblood, but-"

"Oh, for God's sake!", Hermione exploded. "If I had a galleon for every time you've called me that, I'd be set for life. You can't even come up with anything else to say! And why is that? Because you've no logic behind your beliefs, absolutely none! It's complete and utter bollocks!"

Malfoy opened his mouth to retort, but this time Snape cut him off. "I have far better things to do than babysit a couple of teenagers who've been stupid enough to get themselves caught under that vile thing. Get yourselves out of its grasp, and be gone. Every additional minute I have to wait is one night's detention for the both of you."

"This isn't my fault. Why should I be punished, too?", Malfoy squawked indignantly.  
"Because you are prolonging it unnecessarily", Snape answered, his voice rising several decibels and his eyes bulging out of his head rather terrifyingly. An angry Snape was not a pretty sight (not that any kind of Snape ever was.)  
Malfoy's face contorted in repulsion as he finally seemed to realize the inevitable.  
"I'll get you back for this if it's the last thing I do", he hissed at Hermione. He seemed actually close to tears, and Hermione was reminded of the motivation behind her fit of madness in the first place- to make Malfoy suffer. Unfortunately, she'd ensured that an equal amount of suffering would also be inflicted on herself. But what was done was done, and what had to be done...well, had to be done. Mingled with Hermione's own horror was a kind of satisfaction that she was exacting such an effective revenge on her tormenter of the past several years.  
"Let's hope it is, then", Hermione sneered, and slowly, agonizingly leaned forward. Somewhere in the very back of her mind it occurred to her that it was a pity she was wasting her first kiss on such a piece of scum, but she hurriedly tried to push the realization away. There was no use mourning that fact now.  
Malfoy wasn't leaning towards her, but, curiously, he wasn't pulling away either, even the mistletoe's hold would have allowed him several inches to do so before it halted him. The blond was absolutely frozen; it was as if he'd attempted a staring contest with a Basilisk. As Hermione approached Malfoy's mouth, her heartbeat increased to such a frenzied pace she wondered vaguely why it didn't explode, and a tingly shiver ran up her arms, that somehow didn't feel quite like fear or disgust or any other sensation that would be natural in this particular situation. Hermione didn't have time to wonder what it was, though, because her lips had finally reached Malfoy's. The moment they made contact, the Slytherin stumbled back out of the mistletoe's range, landing in an undignified manner on his rear end. There were a few scattered snickers from the still shell-shocked class.  
Hermione glanced around dazedly, and fully realized, for the first time, that thirty-odd students were staring at her with utmost bewilderment. A miserable whimper escaped her (now forever tainted) lips, and she bolted from the dungeon.

I hope you liked it, but whether you did or not, reviews are greatly appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione stumbled down the hallway in the direction of Gryffindor tower, choked with disgust for herself and for what had just occurred. Harry and Ron pursued her; as they caught up, she could hear Ron's shouts of, "What the bloody hell is wrong with you?!" He seemed to be speaking for both himself and Harry, who was still incapable of speech due to his own recent ordeal. Hermione reached the stairs, staggered up them, and struggled to run faster; she didn't feel like explaining anything to anyone. As the Fat Lady's portrait came into view at last, Hermione gasped, "Flibbertigibet!", fell into the common room as the portrait opened, and collapsed onto a chair, her vision blurred by dizziness. A few younger students were scattered around on the couches, and gave her curious looks, but luckily she didn't see anyone she knew.

This relative peace was short-lived, however, as Ron and Harry burst through the portrait hole, followed closely by Neville, Parvati Patil, and a few other fellow fifth-years. Harry and Ron strode over to her, and Hermione started to make a mad dash for her dorm, but faltered halfway there. They _were _her best friends; she owed them an explanation now, which she'd have to give sooner or later anyway. Harry and Ron hated Malfoy just as much as she did, if not more, and with the number of times they themselves had lost their temper with the Slytherin git, perhaps they could understand her momentary insanity.

She slowly turned around and made her way back to the boys.

"Hermione…?", Harry ventured; apparently he'd regained some capability of speech. Ron now appeared to be the one who'd run out of words, and simply gaped at her, his mouth hanging open rather stupidly.

"Let's go over there", Hermione said heavily, leading them to a more secluded corner of the room. She fell into a soft velvet chair, and Harry collapsed on the one across from it, Ron perching on the arm, both of them staring at her expectantly.

"I just couldn't take him anymore", Hermione whimpered, tears suddenly swimming in her wide brown eyes. "I lost it. I wanted to wipe that godawful smirk off his face, to make him suffer. I forgot everything except my fury at him. It was just a momentary madness, but when I regained my sense, it was too late. I was trapped under that sadistic plant…" She trailed off, gazing imploringly at them with overflowing eyes.

Harry smiled at her sympathetically. "I, of all people, can certainly understand being angry at Malfoy, the insufferable prick. It's just that you're usually the sensible one, who's _least_ likely to snap. But clearly, you did, and we certainly understand it. The question is, are you all right?"

"I don't know. I - I guess so", Hermione replied, managing a tiny, tremulous smile.

"You're a martyr", Ron proclaimed in an awed voice, looking at her with reverence. Hermione actually laughed slightly at his melodramatic response. Harry was also looking at her with tenderness and concern. She felt a rush of affection and gratitude for them both. With her best friends, she'd be all right. Eventually. Somehow.

That evening, Harry and Ron managed to drag her down to supper, but when they stepped through the doors of the Great Hall, she almost turned and ran right back. Every head swiveled in her direction; a momentary hush descended upon the crowd, which then erupted in frantic chatter, and scattered giggles. Clearly the incident was now school wide knowledge. Hermione took a few faltering steps backwards, but Ron grabbed her arm.

"Don't let them intimidate you. You've done a great and selfless deed. You need to go in there and hold your head high."

Hermione drew a shaky breath and flung her arms around Ron, burying her face in his shoulder. "Thank you. You're right, I shouldn't run and hide. I can't do that forever, after all. I might as well face them now."

She didn't go in with her head held high, but she did step into the room and head for the Gryffindor table, with Ron's and Harry's arms supporting her on either side. They sat down on either side of her, too, as though protecting her, and Harry thoughtfully dished out some spaghetti onto her plate for her. She eyed it dubiously, and placed about three strands in her mouth. Her appetite had gone AWOL, for some odd reason. She spotted the _reason_ sauntering into the Hall, and the memory of the fleeting contact of their lips came back upon her with sudden vividness. For the first time, it occurred to her that he had felt so much softer than she would expect someone like him to feel. His personality exuded iciness and hardness, so it seemed a curious contradiction that physically, he should be so deliciously delicate. And how delicious he had felt… Hermione gave an involuntary shudder of pleasure, and was instantly horrified with herself. Draco Malfoy was the nastiest, cruelest person that she'd ever had the misfortune to meet. How could she possibly be harboring even the slightest lustful feelings for him? Was she cracking under the trauma of the day's events after all?

Ron and Harry noticed her shivering, and were quick to ask concernedly if she was okay. She assured them that she was, although inside she was plagued with confusion and guilt.

It seemed to take several years, but dinner finally ended, and Hermione followed Harry and Ron back to the common room. She watched them play Exploding Snap until the hour grew late, and people began to head up to bed. Harry and Ron turned to her, their faces full of the anxious concern they'd been looking at her with all night.

"I hope you'll be all right during the night. I wish we could sleep with you!" Ron blurted. His eyes instantly widened, and his face flushed with embarrassment as he realized what he'd said.

"I didn't mean it like - oh, you know what I meant!" he grumbled, as Harry cracked up. Hermione smiled understandingly at him.

"I know, Ron. It's okay. And _I _will be okay tonight, don't worry. You both have been so wonderful to me today, and I really appreciate it." She hugged them both, and turned to the girls' dorms with a "Good night" and a smile of reassurance, that she didn't feel.

"Good night", Ron replied doubtfully, both he and Harry still gazing at her anxiously as she disappeared up the stairs.

Hermione climbed into bed, her mind whirling with turmoil. Why in the nine hells was she thinking of her arch nemesis with anything other than hate and scorn, with…_lust_? She pulled her blankets tighter around her, and nestled into her soft, comfortable bed. Hopefully all she needed was a good night's sleep after her traumatizing day, and she'd be herself again in the morning. Still uneasy, Hermione closed her eyes and tried to drift off into slumber.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: All characters belong to the extraordinary J.K. Rowling.

_Hermione was standing with Malfoy under a the lush canopy of a tree, the moon pale and luminous above them in a hazy sky. Hermione's head was tilted up, gazing at the sky, not at Malfoy, yet somehow she knew he was looking at her. Slowly she shifted her gaze to his face, and looked into his eyes. They were Malfoy's eyes, distinctively silver, yet they were different than she'd ever seen them, because they were gazing at her with tenderness and desire, and not the usual disdain. He moved towards her, drawing closer, closer, until their bodies were almost touching. He encircled her gently with his arms, his hands deliciously warm on her back. She did not pull away, but returned his embrace, clutching his shoulders and drawing him even closer. He continued to gaze into her eyes, and she was aware of nothing but those beautiful silver orbs, and then she stopped seeing even those, because his warm, shiveringly soft lips were against her own. He kissed her gently, and then seemed to lose control of his own passion, for his movements became more frenzied, his lips pressing urgently against her own, his hands clutching her tightly, yet still tenderly. She returned the kiss with an almost desperate fervor, falling against him. In the dizzy darkness, she felt them sinking down to the ground..._and then there was no ground to fall onto, and there was no Malfoy... there was just Hermione laying in her bed, flushed and tingling with lingering arousal, and paralyzed with confusion. _What the hell was that?_ Yanked brutally from that strange and wonderful dreamland into the sudden harshness of reality, Hermione struggled to gain her bearings.

_I just dreamt about kissing Draco Malfoy_. The realization echoed through her head, an absurd and terrifying mantra. _I was KISSING Draco Malfoy in my dream._ _I was..._Aloud, Hermione whimpered helplessly. _Somebody must have slipped something in my dinner_. She bolted up in bed so fast she twisted something in her neck. Relief surged through her in an almost tangible wave, as she rubbed the throbbing spot on her neck. That must be it. Some havoc-wreaking potion had been added to her food, and that was what was causing her to lust after her most loathed enemy. _I'm not crazy_. She sank back down onto her pillow, limp with relief. _But who...Malfoy!_ The bastard himself must have done it, in revenge for the mistletoe fiasco. He'd sneered something about her fancying him while they were stuck under that wretched thing, and he'd probably think it a great laugh to make her actually fancy him. So he'd somehow gotten hold of Amortentia, and slipped it into..._into what?_ She'd barely eaten anything at dinner, and anyway, when would Malfoy have had the chance to do it? It wasn't like he could plop down at the Gryffindor table unnoticed. Hermione frowned in frustration. Still, she was convinced that Malfoy, or if not him, _somebody_ was using magic to affect her desires. It was an infinite relief to have an explanation, and an explanation that didn't call for her immediate removal to the mental ward of St. Mungo's.

Hermione walked down to the common room, as distracted as she'd been upon leaving it the previous night. This time, however, she was lost not in her own terror, but in the effort to deduce by who, and how, and when the sadistic potion had been administered. "I _will_ find out", she muttered to herself as she sank wearily into a chair, alone in the common room due to the early hour. "I will track down the absolute _arse _responsible for this state I'm in, and I will hex them into next century, bring them back, then do it all over again." For even though she now knew the cause, or thought she did anyhow, harboring a burning lust for one's nemesis was still not the most pleasant sensation.

Hermione yawned and laid her head back on a soft cushion, still struggling to fend off the fantasies of the blond bastard that kept popping into her mind. She'd had a fantasy about him before, right after the very first time he'd called her a Mudblood. That fantasy had involved her locking him in a broom closet with a family of starved manticores. These fantasies also featured Draco Malfoy and a broom closet; however, Hermione was thoroughly displeased at the way they also featured herself. Hermione moaned in exasperation - rather like herself in the fantasy, except in the dream, Hermione was moaning for a very different reason.

I hope you liked it, but whether you did or not, reviews are greatly appreciated.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione was startled awake by an insistent voice in her ear that she recognized as Harry's.

"Hermione? _Hermione!_" Her shoulder was gently shaken, and she groaned in exhaustion as she opened her eyes. "What time is it?", she asked blearily, struggling to lift herself up, then noticed that the common room was teeming with students about to head down to breakfast.

"It's quarter past eight. What are you doing sleeping down here?". Harry regarded her quizzically.

"I woke up early in the morning and couldn't get back to sleep, so I came down here, but I must have fallen asleep at some point", Hermione explained sheepishly. Harry furrowed his brow in concern. "Are you all right? You don't look so well. Perhaps you should go to Madam Pomfrey." Hermione shook her head dazedly as she stumbled to her feet. "No, no, I'm fine. Just tired, that's all."

Harry was clearly skeptical. "Are you sure? You really do look ill. Is it something to do with…you know…yesterday?" He studied the rug awkwardly, reluctant to mention the subject, but wanting the truth from Hermione about what was wrong.

"No, no", Hermione said again, in a rather overly convincing manner. "You really don't have to be so worried about me. I appreciate the concern, but I'm a strong girl. I'll manage". She attempted a smile, which turned into a yawn. The doubt in Harry's eyes remained, but he fell silent as they joined their fellow Gryffindors on the way to the Great Hall.

"Hey, where's Ron?", Hermione inquired a few moments later.

"Oh, he overslept. He'll probably come dashing in at the end of breakfast, frantically asking if there's any toast left", Harry chuckled. Hermione smiled and they shared an eye-roll of understanding about their quirky friend.

As Hermione reached the Great Hall, numerous faces turned to study her, and speculative discussions about her recent breakdown were launched into all over the room. Hermione cringed, but steadfastly marched towards the Gryffindor table, even as nausea boiled up inside her. The weary young woman perched on the end of the bench and poured herself a glass of pumpkin juice, giving no sign that she noticed all the attention focused on her. If everybody didn't keep reminding her of the terrible occurrence that she had so incomprehensibly been responsible for, she might almost be able to convince herself that it had been some remote nightmare. But there was no doubt as to why the majority of the eyes in the room were fixed on her, and even Snape was eyeing her with cold curiosity from the staff table.

"They won't keep doing this forever", Harry whispered in her ear as he buttered his toast. "They'll get bored soon, and move on to something else."

Hermione glanced down at her empty plate, her thick, unruly hair falling in front of her blushing face. "I hope so", she muttered darkly. She imagined herself an old lady, sporting bushy white hair, hobbling down the street, while people pointed at her and exclaimed to each other, "There's the one who made Draco Malfoy kiss her!" Harry turned towards Hermione in confusion as she groaned aloud.

Draco Malfoy scowled ferociously as Hermione Granger walked into the Great Hall, accompanied by a certain git named Harry Potter. "I'm going to make that Mudblood bitch pay for what she did", he growled through a mouthful of oatmeal.

"You've mentioned that, Draco", Blaise Zabini replied wearily. "About five thousand times last night, in fact."

"That's because it's true", Draco retorted crossly. "Her nerve is absolutely appalling, and she needs to be put in her place."

"And just how are you going to go about doing this?", Blaise inquired practically. Draco turned his scowl on the other Slytherin. "I'll figure that out soon enough", he said dismissively.

Blaise raised a skeptical eyebrow and helped himself to more pancakes, as Draco seethed. Yes, Granger's actions had been reprehensible, and she would have to be severely punished, as he'd spent the better part of last night informing his dorm mates in a hysterical rampage. What Draco _wouldn't _admit to his fellow Slytherins, nor anybody, for that matter, was just what about the incident had him in such a towering temper.

Since the moment he'd been released from that wretched mistletoe sprig's hold, he'd been reliving the kiss with Granger, despite his most valiant efforts to stop himself, and the recollection of the soft sensation was doing exceedingly strange things to his body. Shivers slithered over his skin, and although he'd love to believe they were shivers of disgust, he knew better. The peculiar shudders were caused by something else, something that didn't bear thinking about. Draco was beginning to be quite terrified for his own sanity. He refused to pay any heed to the physical responses that, truth be told, he did recognize. But the idea of harboring even the slightest fancy for a Mudblood was…preposterous. _Beyond _preposterous. There was no word in the English language to describe how utterly unfathomable it would be for any upstanding Pureblood to develop…_feelings_ for a filthy Mudblood. Draco picked up his fork and stabbed a pancake irritably, his impressive inner capacity for denial trying to defeat the inevitable realization rising to the surface.


	6. Chapter 6

-1Hermione let out a large yawn as she sat in Herbology class, having slept very fitfully over the past several nights. That disturbing dream about a certain Slytherin git had unfortunately not been a one-time occurrence, and Hermione had come to dread going to bed. Last night, she'd even taken a novel into bed with her, lit her wand, and tried to stay up, but basic physiological needs had taken over. Hermione had once again found herself floating through dreams that should have been nightmares, but the fact that they fascinated rather than frightened her was, in itself, frightening. The ever-attentive Hermione, for once, had to force herself to focus on what Professor Sprout was saying.

"Boys and girls, here is a plant that is not only useful to know about in the study of Herbology, but can teach us a valuable life lesson about appearances. Behold…"

Sprout opened a cabinet and placed on the center table a blossom of exquisite beauty, an unusual silver hue, its delicate leaves dazzling and shimmering, seeming almost to exude their own glow. People gasped and murmured, entranced; even the aloof Slytherins were gazing at the plant with fascination.

Sprout smiled knowingly. "Pleasing to the eye, eh?" She paused, surveying the group of students, then continued. "It's called Luministeria. One of the most beautiful objects many will ever see. And from its seeds can be extracted one of the five deadliest poisons known to wizardkind."

Gasps of horror were heard around the room. "But it's so pretty!", Lavendar Brown exclaimed in dismay.

Hermione's eyes were fixed vaguely on the plant, but she wasn't seeing it anymore. She was frozen as a startling, but infinitely welcome, realization coursed through her. Nobody had spiked her food or drink with Amortentia after all. That was a love potion, and love originated in the soul; it was an emotional and not just a physical sensation. Hermione didn't think Draco Malfoy was any less of a slimy git; she was merely noticing his physical attractiveness. From an objective, aesthetic standpoint, his soft blond locks and piercing silver eyes _could_ be considered desirable. And Hermione _was_ a teenage girl; it was only natural that she should be experiencing - Hermione squirmed in her seat and blushed as the thought ran through her head - sexual desires. It was simply unfortunate that her body should choose to direct these awakenings towards the most hateful male in Hogwarts. But it _was _only a response from her body, a purely physical and superficial phenomenon. Hermione had no cause to worry, for it signified nothing about either her character or Malfoy's; these sensations were simply a nuisance that would soon pass.

Hermione chanced a fleeting glance at Malfoy, then studied the plant again. She smiled wryly as she realized that Malfoy's eyes were the exact shimmering silver as the leaves of the Luministeria. Both boy and plant were lovely to look at, but repulsive in terms of the qualities that ultimately mattered.

As the bell rang and students filed out, Hermione glanced over at Malfoy with satisfaction. Now that she understood these unfortunate sensations, they would not affect her anymore. No matter how much her body - and _only _her body - yearned for the sexy bastard, Hermione would not let his presence disconcert her.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: All characters belong to the extraordinary J.K. Rowling.

Draco Malfoy bolted up in his bed, shivering, unaware that only minutes earlier, on the other end of Hogwarts, one Hermione Granger had done the same. Both had awakened from remarkably similar dreams, equally involving each other, and equally un-G-rated. Draco flung the green blanket off his sweaty body and snatched his wand from the nightstand, conjuring up a glass of water. Or trying to, except his hand was still so unsteady that he produced a neon pink goblet of water instead. Rolling his eyes, he gulped the liquid down his parched throat, and then tried to steady his breathing. Gradually his body achieved calm, while his mind did the exact opposite. This was getting out of hand. These dreams involving _her_ were haunting him on a nightly basis by now. And those were an escape compared to what he suffered during the day. Whenever he was in the same room as _her_, he was so hyperaware of her presence, he could barely focus on anything else. This had lead to some highly annoyed teachers, as well an embarrassing incident in Ancient Runes involving the absentminded mistranslation of the word for "flowers" as the word for certain rather personal body parts. Draco suspected that Hermione's presence at the adjoining table at the time of his Freudian slip was somewhat less than a coincidence. He was becoming more and more terrified that somebody would catch on to the recent _situation_ regarding his feelings towards the Mudblood.

Draco Malfoy was many things, but he was not stupid, and so could not deny the existence of desire when it was pulsing with such fiery urgency through every cell in his body. After a vigorous wanking session a few nights ago, which failed to abate the raging need inside him, he'd completely abandoned his efforts at denial and grudgingly recognized that this was a force beyond his control. He'd then tried to dismiss the situation using just that reason - that he was a teenage bloke with raging hormones that he couldn't possibly be expected to control. But even this excuse failed to keep his mind at ease, when he was hit with the unwanted realization that his desires had never been this out-of-control, that Herm- that _she_ had a terrifyingly unique effect on him.

It had now been just over a week since the Incident-Which-Shall-Not-Be-Named, and Draco had reached the conclusion that perpetual arousal, severe insomnia, and the upending of ideas that had been instilled in him since early childhood did not make a very pleasant combination.

The next morning at breakfast, Blaise Zabini received a glass of pumpkin juice in the face for suggesting that Draco looked tired, and joking that he must have been up last night wanking over the Mudblood. While trying to ignore the shouts of his dripping and thoroughly annoyed friend, Draco quivered with the fear that Blaise would discover that the only inaccuracy in his remark had been the date - that had happened Tuesday night, not last night. How Blaise would find out, Draco didn't know, but then, there seemed to be a lot of things he didn't know recently. For instance, how he could be harboring desire for a Mudblood. All normal regulations of the universe were officially null and void. Anything was possible.


	8. Chapter 8

Draco slumped in his seat, pretending to read the ingredients list for Felix Felicis, and sneaking glances at Granger out of the corner of his eye. 'What am I _doing_?' he demanded of himself for the seven hundredth time. And yet, as long as he was admitting everything to himself, this _wasn't_ completely new. She'd unnerved him from the first. Everything about her conflicted his deep-rooted beliefs, things he'd been taught his whole life. Ever since he could remember, his father had taught him about Muggleborns, who were supposed to be far inferior wizards to Purebloods. "Filthy Mudbloods", Luciuswould sneer during his periodical rampages about Hogwarts' inclusive policy on ancestry. Until he went to Hogwarts, he'd held his father's rhetoric about Muggleborns as absolute truth. After all, he'd had no reason to believe otherwise. A Muggleborn could never make as good a wizard as a Pureblood, and that was the end of it. Or was it? Why, then, was the Muggle-born Hermione Granger one of the brightest and most magically talented students in their year, if not the entire school? How did _she_ fit into his father's philosophy of Pureblood magical superiority?

To suppress these unsettling thoughts, he'd instead devoted his energy to taunting her about her bloodline. It had worked pretty well for awhile, Draco reflected now. He'd been so busy flinging malicious words at her every time they met that he had conveniently distracted himself from her intelligence, and its implications about what his father had taught him. But now, destiny had decided to interrupt his path of blind hatred once again, and throw another obstacle in front of him, one that he _really _couldn't ignore. That fatal obstacle called desire.

It had been nearly two weeks since the greenery-induced nightmare that had started this whole bloody thing, and Draco had determined that this couldn't go on. He had to confront Granger about this confounded situation. For luckily - or unluckily, Draco couldn't decide - he had a sneaking suspicion that his attraction towards Granger was not entirely unreciprocated. Several times since _it_ happened, he'd caught her staring at him with an odd, tormented look in her eyes. When she saw him looking, her expression would quickly harden to become the pure, scathing hatred he was used to, but she wasn't quick enough. He'd seen in her eyes the pain of forbidden longing, the simultaneous guilt and burning need. Draco recognized it because he himself was rapidly becoming an expert on it. Observing her now, Draco saw that, although mixed with desire, the hate in her eyes still burned genuinely. She was probably even more resentful towards him for making her lust after her nemesis. 'It isn't much fun, is it, Granger?", Draco thought bitterly.

Several hours later, Draco marched out of the Great Hall, having decided to give up on even making a pretense of eating dinner. He'd lost his appetite after literally colliding with Granger on his way towards the Hall, making her stumble and drop the armful of books she carried. When she bent down to pick up her dropped belongings, he was treated to a view down the front of her robes which left little to the imagination. A month ago, he would have merely been sickened by the sight. Now, he was indeed sickened…by his reaction to what he'd seen. As if his arousal wasn't already at an unbearable level, the visual temptation had made him forget how to breathe, as he gaped unintelligently at theskin inadvertently bared to him. Luckily, Granger hadn't seemed to notice; she'd merely gathered her books, shot him a quick scowl, then bustled off towards the Great Hall. As Draco stood outside the doors, clenching his fists in fury, he determined that not only did he need to confront Granger, he needed to do so without delay.

Draco skulked in the hall, wavering about what to do now. He wished he could just wait for Granger to come out after dinner, then demand to speak with her. But if he tried to corner her when she was with Potter and Weasel, as she nearly always was, they'd never leave her alone with him. In addition, everyone else would also be exiting dinner, and Draco felt guilty enough about initiating conversation with the Mudblood. He didn't need witnesses to his scandalous behavior. These thoughts and countless others, all relating to one Hermione Granger, tumbled about chaotically inside Draco's head. He stared vacantly at the wall for so long that he was startled when the doors creaked open and crowds of students poured out. He leaned back against the wall, feigning nonchalance, while really searching the heads for a bushy brown one. He saw the Weasel's heinous red hair first, but naturally, Scarhead and Granger were right next to him.

"…should just bring your pillow to the library and sleep there", the Weasel was saying to Granger.

Hermione rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Very funny, Ronald", she called over her shoulder as she headed away from them. Draco stared after her for a moment, then realized that Granger was going somewhere without those two gits. The library, from what he'd heard. He'd forgotten that that was the one place she often went without Weasel and Potter. Here was his chance! Cautiously, he started off down the corridor after her. The hallways towards the library appeared deserted except for them; the library only received a few visitors after dinner. Of course, Granger was always one of them. Malfoy tiptoed after her for a few minutes, until he realized this was the last corridor before the library. Summoning more courage than he knew he had, Malfoy sped up until he was alongside Granger. She turned, jumped, then glared at him, almost reflexively. Their relationship wasn't pleasant, but it was certainly predictable, Draco realized. Not for long, he told himself, the idea both terrifying and tantalizing him.

"Hey, Mud-Granger", Draco hastily corrected himself, cringing at what had nearly slipped from his mouth. Old habits really did die hard.

"Yes, Malfoy?", Granger asked, her warily curious expression belying the cold indifference in her voice.

Draco opened his mouth, and stood there for nearly a minute without saying anything, desperately attempting to form the words he needed to. The curiosity on Granger's face increased. Finally his command of the English language returned, and he blurted, "We both know what's been going on since that bloody mistletoe, so don't even try to deny it. I've seen it in your eyes. You want me as much as I want you."

Hermione spluttered, genuinely shocked by the statement, not just the part about her, but by Draco's own admission. So wrapped up in her own internal struggle, she'd had no idea the attraction had been mutual.

She tried to remain defiant, but the truth of Draco's statement was reflected in her wide and terrified eyes. Slowly, he raised a hand that both of them were startled to realize was shaking, and stroked her wild, silky hair. Hermione gasped, a shiver of fright convulsing her body. She couldn't have been more terrified if he'd smacked her.

'I'd almost prefer that he hit me', she thought hysterically. 'At least hostility is normal for us. This…what do we do with _this_?' At that, she realized, fully, for the first time, that although she didn't know what _this_ was, she did know that it was real.

"This is actually happening", she whispered suddenly. An understanding that was almost - _kind_? - softened the silver luminosity of Malfoy's eyes.

"Yes, it is", he agreed, on a matching note of bewilderment. He hesitated, then brought his other hand to rest lightly on Hermione's shoulder, causing another shudder.

Draco leaned forward, tilting his head towards Hermione's. Her eyes widened, and her breathing became gasping, but she did not pull away. Hermione shivered yet again, this time from arousal more than anything.

Their lips met for the second time in two weeks, and it was even more terrifying than the first time, for this was not forced upon them by a sadistic plant. They were choosing to do this. _But how could we not?, _Hermione thought dazedly as their mouths moved against each other. _It feels too good not to_…Draco's thoughts unknowingly echoed Hermione's. His grip in her hair tightened, and slowly, as though touching a frightening, mysterious creature - but then, wasn't she? - Hermione moved her arm up and wrapped it around him.

A sudden noise made them jump apart, but it was only a mouse scurrying along the wall. Still, it had shattered the haze of surreality they had become lost in.

"I - I suppose it's getting late", Hermione gasped dazedly.

"Yeah", Draco agreed vaguely.

She stepped away, but her eyes remained fixed on Draco's.

"This is extremely bizarre", she remarked helplessly.

Draco raised an eyebrow in amusement. "I'm blown away by your powers of observation."

Hermione instinctively narrowed her eyes, but then realized this was a gentle teasing, completely unlike the vicious taunts they'd thrown at each other in the past. _The past_. They had just created an irreversible distinction between their past relationship and their future one, whatever that would be. _There's no going back_. Overwhelmed by this new reality, Hermione turned to leave, then suddenly twisted back to narrow her eyes at him thoughtfully.

"I suppose it makes a twisted sort of sense. You loathe me because of my blood, and I loathe you because of that very prejudice, and yet neither of those feelings about each other can defeat this - this…" she trailed off, both unable and unwilling to define what was present between them.

"_This_", Draco finished simply. Hermione smiled. "Yes", she whispered.

Draco leaned forward again, pressed his lips to Hermione's once more, his hand lingering on her shoulder, then withdrew at last. He stumbled away down the hall, leaving Hermione to ask herself incredulously, "Did my archenemy just kiss me goodbye?"


	9. Chapter 9

Pansy Parkinson was getting worried. It was nearly eleven o'clock at night, well past curfew, and there was no sign of Draco. She hadn't seem him since he'd abruptly risen from the dinner table, muttered vaguely about having something to do, and rushed from the Great Hall. This was after he'd arrived at dinner wearing a formidable scowl, eaten all of about a teaspoon of soup, and then flown into an uncontrollable rage at a first-year who'd had the misfortune to spill her pumpkin juice on Draco's sleeve. Draco wasn't a patient person, but he wasn't usually _that_ mercurial.

Pansy turned to Blaise Zabini, the only one left in the common room besides a couple of rambunctious second-years, and demanded, "Have you seen Draco?"

Blaise glanced up from his Potions textbook and shook his head. "No, not since he left dinner."

"Well, don't you think it's a bit odd that we haven't seen him since?", Pansy persisted impatiently. "Especially considering how he's been acting. I think something's going on with Draco, don't you?"

"Suppose so", Blaise muttered absentmindedly, frowning intently at his book.

Pansy rolled her eyes at Blaise's unhelpfulness and began pacing the room restlessly. Draco wouldn't have disappeared like this unless something were wrong…would he? A movement at the entrance made Pansy whip her head around expectantly, but it was only a thoroughly dirt-covered second-year who went to join the other two and launched into a loud and lengthy complaint about his detention in the greenhouse. Pansy sighed in frustration and glanced at her watch yet again.

Pansy would perhaps have been surprised to find out where Draco had actually disappeared to, but would have been much more startled at the state he was in. Always seen by his peers as calm, cool, and collected, Draco was now curled up under a tree on the banks of the Great Lake, shaking violently due to his advanced state of shock. He had now, truly and irrevocably, altered his entire state of being. His action of a few hours ago had flown in the face of the ideology he'd been surrounded by his entire life, both at home and in his House at school. If his father knew what he'd done, he would quite literally disown him. If his housemates knew…well, that was why Draco was here, where he could, for the moment, avoid any contact with his fellow Slytherins. It would be uncomfortably bizarre to interact with his housemates as though everything were going along as normal, while possessing the secret knowledge of his forbidden rendezvous with Granger. He would be, effectively, a hidden traitor in their midst. Draco shuddered at this thought. Oh, what had he _done_? If Draco had thought _feeling _attracted to Granger was a mental torment, then having _acted_ on that attraction brought on an exponentially larger amount of guilt. And yet, for all the miserable confusion that comprised Draco's thoughts and emotions right now, regret was curiously absent. Had Draco been given the choice of doing the entire afternoon over again, he'd still be sitting under this tree, his flaming face being cooled by a breeze from the lake, reflecting on - okay, fine, panicking over how he'd just kissed a Mudblood.

Draco took several deep breaths and attempted to calm himself. As his pulse rate finally began to slow, so did the wild frenzy of thoughts in his head. A strange calm descended on him. He felt almost…_liberated_? As though he'd broken free of constraints he hadn't even realized had been on him, but now felt an acute relief at having escaped. _I can do whatever the hell I want_, Draco said to himself suddenly. _I've just kissed a Mudbl - a Muggleborn_. He couldn't think of anything that was more forbidden than that, as far as his father and most of his housemates were concerned. A surge of defiance swept through him. _I _can _do whatever the hell _I _want. Not what my family wants, not what my friends want, but what _I _want. _He wasn't used to thinking about what he, as an individual, wanted, independent of anyone else. But what better time than now to start?

When Draco finally crept back into the castle and into the familiar Slytherin common room, he was greeted by a hysterical Pansy Parkinson demanding to know where he'd been and who he thought he was, worrying her like that. As he lay in his bed, having finally shaken off Pansy, a wave of fearful uncertainty mingled with his new rebellious impulses. _Actually, Pansy, that's a good question. A few weeks ago, I thought I knew who I was. A few weeks ago, I thought I knew _everything. _Now…I'm wondering if there's anything I _can_ be sure of anymore. _


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: All characters belong to the extraordinary J.K. Rowling.

A/N: I'm sooooo sorry it's taken me so long to update. I just started college, so I've been really busy. I can't guarantee anything, but I'll really try to update more frequently. I hope you like it, but whether you do or not, reviews are greatly appreciated.

Hermione Granger had gone utterly and completely barking mad. Perhaps the constant pressure which she put on herself for academic perfection had finally proved too much for her psyche. Perhaps somebody had slipped some addling substance into her pumpkin juice, or perhaps she was under the influence of some malicious spell. Hell, maybe she was just a natural-born loony tune and had managed to hide it from herself until now. Hermione didn't know, and frankly she didn't care. All she cared about was that she had kissed Draco Malfoy – irrefutable evidence that the universe was falling apart at the seams.

Yet, as Hermione glanced around the packed, noisy Great Hall, everybody else seemed to still be residing in normality, in a world in which mutually loathing enemies did not go about snogging each other in deserted corridors – in a world that made sense. Hermione glanced at Ron and Harry, who in between bites of cereal were engaged in an intense debate about strategy for the next Quidditch match, and wondered how everyone could be so oblivious to the forbidden thing that had occurred the previous afternoon. It was of such a profoundly forbidden nature, in so many ways, that it seemed as though nobody could fail to be aware of such a monumental absurdity in their midst, and everyone should, at that very moment, be pointing at her crying "Traitor!"

Yet the closest she had come to being discovered had been last night, when Harry had remarked that she was being unusually quiet, and Hermione had claimed a headache and slunk off to bed early. Otherwise, the inhabitants of Hogwarts were going about their business as usual, while Hermione Granger was thinking of an American television show she had loved as a child, and knowing with absolute certainty that nothing in the Twilight Zone could ever compare to this.


	11. Chapter 11

The Potions classroom fell silent, save for Snape's slow, menacing footsteps advancing towards Hermione, as students exchanged shocked glances, and Ron and Harry stared at their friend in bewildered concern. She was obviously suffering from some severe mental imbalance, for what else could cause such incongruous behavior?

"I _said_, Miss Granger, what is one of the primary ingredients in a Sleeping Draught?"

"Oh. Uh, salamander blood", Hermione responded in a whisper, more mortified than she could ever remember being in her life. She was _always_ completely alert in class, paying the utmost attention. It was other students, silly, lackadaisical students who were caught in the awkward position of admitting to not paying attention – it was never her! Yet now here she was, squirming in her seat as Snape glared at her.

"Correct. But I should not be put through the trouble of repeating myself. Ten points from Gryffindor", he snapped. "And an hour's detention tonight. Be here at seven o'clock sharp."

Hermione nodded resignedly, trying to squelch her anger at Snape's hypocrisy, for whenever she _did _pay attention and volunteer to answer questions (i.e., constantly), Snape either ignored her or sneered in annoyance.

As Draco studied the blushing, miserable girl across the room, he felt a surge of genuine sympathy for a girl he'd always held nothing but contempt for. He had a sudden image of himself holding her, brushing away the tears he could see welling in her eyes…Where the _hell_ did that come from? Sure, he'd kissed her, and his feelings for her were starting to shift from the previous loathing, although into what he wasn't sure, but that was just too much! Malfoys did not give comfort, did not show any signs of tenderness whatsoever! _Malfoys don't kiss Mudbloods_, a voice inside him whispered, unbidden. "Oh, shut up", he snapped aloud without thinking.

"I _beg_ your pardon?" Pansy Parkinson hissed in a way that did not bode very well for Draco's physical well-being.

"Oh, uh, not you, Pansy", Draco said hastily, feeling like a supreme idiot. "I was, uh, thinking about something else."

Pansy studied him suspiciously, but resumed quietly blathering about…whatever she'd been blathering about. Draco was too preoccupied to bother figuring it out.

As the bell finally rang, and Draco watched Hermione nearly mow people down in her haste to escape the dungeon, he was reminded of the day when this whole bloody convoluted fiasco had started, for she was running nearly as fast now as she had after the mistletoe incident. Draco glanced up at the wicked plant. It was still lurking on the

ceiling, but by now it had become everyone's second nature to avoid it, so it had caused no further trouble. But for him – for _them_ - the damage had already been done. It had set in motion a course of events which had spiraled out of control, and there was no longer any telling how, or if, they would end.

Hermione sighed in weary relief as she reached for the last of the two dozen cauldrons she'd been ordered to clean. She'd been in the dungeons for nearly three hours, polishing until her arm threatened to fall off, all the while cursing herself for her carelessness. How could she lose her head over _Draco Malfoy_, of all people? For of course it had been of the blonde Slytherin Hermione had been thinking when Snape had decided that, for once, he desired her answer to a question. For four days, since that terrifying embrace in the hallway, Hermione had scarcely thought of anything else. She was still in dazed disbelief that such a thing had happened at all. But what scared her even more than the event itself was the realization that she had liked it.

Hermione knew that the kiss was horribly and terribly wrong, an utter abomination, and must never happen again, but this knowledge was purely intellectual. When she awoke at night, her body hot and tingling from the things dream-Malfoy had done to her, it was difficult to remember that he was an evil, prejudiced git. And really, was that true after all? Malfoy had been as willing and eager a participant in their recent debauchery as she. That meant he didn't see her merely as a "filthy Mudblood" after all…didn't it? Hermione scowled in frustration as she finished off the last cauldron. She had been desperately trying to justify what she'd done – what _they'd_ done – and all that her pondering had accomplished was a state of hopeless confusion. Snape looked up as Hermione rose to leave. Inspecting the cauldrons with a sneer, he finally said coldly, "I suppose that will do." Hermione rolled her eyes as she trudged out of the classroom. "Bastard", she muttered as soon as she was out of earshot.

"You didn't seem to think that the other day", the wall remarked conversationally. Hermione leapt back with a frightened gasp as Malfoy emerged from the shadows which had concealed him.

"Don't _do_ that! I thought you were an axe murderer or something!" Hermione snapped.

Malfoy frowned. "A _what_?"

"Never mind", Hermione said impatiently. "Wh-what do you want?" Her fright and annoyance were quickly being replaced by a flustered uncertainty. What does one say to the bane of one's existence, with whom one has recently engaged in a thorough snogging session?

"What do I want?" Malfoy repeated drawlingly, as though considering a profound philosophical question. "Hmmmm…I guess that would be _you_."

Hermione's lungs forgot how to function. "What – do you mean?" she stammered idiotically, although the heat rising in her face and the sudden shiver she gave indicated that she knew very well what he meant.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "You're the smartest witch in Hogwarts, remember? You can't play dumb with me, Granger. I know you know what I mean." He stepped closer, slowly and deliberately, until there were scarcely six inches between them. "Especially after the other day."

Hermione stared at him bemusedly, startled at his straightforward mention of their passionate encounter - she'd half expected him to pretend it had never happened.

"Um…yeah", she said vaguely, automatically. "I mean, I, um…" Malfoy's proximity, which allowed her to clearly see the desire flashing in his eyes, was not doing wonders for Hermione's coherency. She trailed off as Malfoy continued to watch her intently, yet made no attempt to get any closer. Finally he asked softly, "Do you regret it?"

Hermione blinked, shocked as much by the gentleness of his tone as the question itself. Who was this? It certainly wasn't the Draco Malfoy she knew, who she'd never seen express concern for _anyone_ else's well-being, let alone that of a "Mudblood".

"Who are you?" she blurted, then winced at the malfunction of her brain-to-mouth filter.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "You haven't got amnesia, have you? Bump your head recently?" He reached up and began gently probing at her scalp. She drew in her breath sharply at his touch, which had also brought his face even closer to hers. She fixed her gaze intently on his eyes, as though if she searched them long enough she could figure out the enigma that Draco Malfoy had suddenly become. She realized that even more than she wanted to kiss him, she wanted to figure him out: figure out why he was being so nice to her, if it was just some kind of trick, or…

"What I meant was", Hermione began again, "why – why are you acting like this? I mean, you're being....well…"

"Nice?" Malfoy supplied, then looked away. For the first time during their recent exchanges, he seemed suddenly shy.

"Yes!" Hermione exclaimed. "And of course you're usually…not." She shrugged. It was the truth. Until recently there was no condemnation she would not have happily flung at him, so "not nice" was practically a euphemism. But somehow it no longer felt right to insult him, even if it was based in fact.

Malfoy sighed, still not looking at her, but at the wall, with an expression of utmost perplexity.

"I – don't know", he said in a tone of honest bewilderment. "I mean…" He took another deep breath, and appeared to consider his response carefully. "I've been…thinking lately. Thinking about things…that I never, ever thought I'd be even considering."

Draco broke off suddenly, realizing that he was confiding his emotional torment in the very person responsible for that inner conflict. He laughed suddenly, struck once again by the absurdity of the entire circumstance.

"What's so funny?" Hermione asked suspiciously.

"Nothing", Draco said hastily. "I – I was just thinking about how unlikely and bizarre it is that we're standing here having this conversation at all."

Hermione nodded slowly, a wry smile breaking out on her face. "That it is", she agreed.

"So, you never answered _my_ question", Draco reminded her. "Do you- do you regret what happened?" He gazed at her expectantly, a hint of apprehension evident in his eyes despite his attempts to hide it.

Hermione looked away, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze. "I – no", she admitted. "No. I don't." And she proved it by kissing him.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: All characters belong the extraordinary J.K. Rowling

As Hermione pressed her lips to his, a jolt of surprise ran through Draco, even as his arms instinctively wrapped themselves around her. Goodness, she was quite as mad as he – i.e., utterly, hopelessly, stark raving, get-the-straitjackets-in-here-now _mad_. What were they _doing_?...and then Hermione moaned softly as their mouths opened against each other, and the last shred of Draco's capability for rational thought disappeared, and he, too, was moaning and clutching her impossibly tightly against him…and then a strangled gasp made them leap apart in alarm.

Standing before them was Severus Snape, mouth hanging open and eyes bulging as though he were beholding Voldemort and Hagrid doing a waltz together. Naked.

Draco grimaced. Brilliant, he really needed _that_ image in his head on top of everything. Snape was still staring at them, seemingly bereft of speech. Draco glanced at Hermione, who was staring back at Snape, guilt and terror shining wildly from her eyes. Draco darted a glance back at Snape, who was _still_ gaping at them soundlessly.

"Well, this is awkward", Draco thought hysterically. When the silence had, in fact, reached an epitome of awkwardness, Snape finally cleared his throat and choked out, "Mr. Malfoy – M-Ms. Granger- what is the – the meaning of this?"

Draco winced. Coincidentally enough, that was what he himself had been wondering. And he was quite at a loss for the answer.

"Um- well, y-you see, Professor-", Draco stuttered, glancing frantically at Hermione. But she was quite paralyzed with fear, and therefore even more incapable of offering an explanation than Draco. Snape finally waved his hands in disgusted dismissal.

"Just – just _go_!", he snarled.

They didn't need telling twice.

Hermione stumbled away, wondering vaguely why Snape had let them go without punishment. He was probably too preoccupied with being shocked. And why shouldn't he be? How could she have been so stupid – both to be – _kissing Draco Malfoy_ and – to get _caught_ – oh, what was wrong with her? What was _happening_ to her –

"Password, please!"

Hermione blinked. She'd arrived at Gryffindor Tower without realizing it – she hadn't even been conscious of the direction she was taking.

"Pomegranate pulp", she muttered distractedly, stumbling through the portrait hole.

"Hey, Hermione!", Ron called from his seat on the couch next to Harry. "You all right?"

Hermione refrained, with great difficulty, from bursting into tears. She was already filled with guilt to the point of nausea; the last thing she needed right now was to talk to the friends she'd betrayed. But apparently fate was already starting in on its punishment for her flouting of the natural laws of the universe – specifically, the statute about the smartest witch in the class, who also happened to be the best friend of Harry Potter, _not _snogging their collective Slytherin enemy. .

"Um, yeah, I'm fine, Ron", she lied, collapsing exhaustedly onto the couch.

"What did Snape make you do?", Harry asked.

"What?", Hermione said blankly, so distracted by the disastrous events that had followed the detention that she'd forgotten about the detention itself. "Oh, it was fine."

"Fine?" Harry responded skeptically. "A detention with Snape?"

"Oh, well, obviously, it was a bother", Hermione amended, trying to focus on what Harry was saying. "But now it's over. And, actually, I'm quite tired. I think I'll go to bed. Good night." She rose from the couch and hurried up the staircase to the girls' dorm. Huddled under the sheets a few minutes later, she thought, I'd suffer twenty detentions with Snape if only it would make this guilt go away.

I hope you liked it, but whether you did or not, reviews are greatly appreciated!


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: Characters belong to the extraordinary J.K. Rowling

Draco stumbled into the Slytherin common room on dangerously unsteady legs and collapsed onto a couch across from Pansy and Blaise.

"And where have _you_ been?", Pansy inquired curiously.

"Oh, uh, just around – you know, out for a walk", Draco said vaguely, aiming for nonchalance and missing by several miles.

"Oh, _really_?" , Pansy responded in a voice dripping with skepticism.

"Yes, really. Not that I have to explain anything to you", Draco grumbled.

"You know, mate, people don't usually look that flushed when they've simply been taking a walk _around_", Blaise remarked mockingly.

Draco gritted his teeth. "It was a long walk", he said lamely.

Blaise started to say something else, but Draco rose abruptly and announced that he was going to bed. Blaise and Pansy stared after him until he disappeared around the corner, and exchanged suspicious glances.

Later that night, Draco was lying in bed trying to figure out how to avoid Severus Snape for the rest of his life when his bedcurtains were whipped violently open to reveal a smirking Blaise Zabini.

"All right, Draco, the game's up. Who are you shagging?"

"Wha- I'm not _shagging_ anybody!", Draco spluttered. "Not that it's any of your business."

"I'm your friend. I'm making it my business", Blaise countered. "So, who is she?"

"I need some new friends", Draco muttered grumpily. "And it's one in the damn morning; what are you doing waking me up?"

"You weren't asleep", Blaise said confidently.

"And I never will be at this rate", Draco snarled. "Get out and leave me alone!"

His voice echoed through the room. _That_ had been several decibels louder than he'd intended. There was shuffling from other beds, and Gregory Goyle and Theodore Nott sat up, although Vincent Crabbe snored on.

"Wha's goin' on?", Gregory mumbled groggily.

"Nothing. Go back to sleep", Draco ordered at the same time as Blaise said, "Draco won't tell who he's shagging!"

"Draco's shagging someone?", Theo inquired eagerly, seeming to come awake instantly. "C'mon, mate, tell us all about it!"

"I'm not shagging anybody! Why are you people so interested in my life? Are all yours so dull that you have to get your excitement vicariously through me? If so, you're out of luck, because _I'm not shagging anybody_! Now I am going back to bed, from which I should never have been disturbed in the first place! Good _night_!" Draco pulled his curtains shut and spelled them to stay that way, ignoring the clamor of indignant voices outside. Finally, they quieted down, and Draco lay back, trembling with trepidation.

His friends and housemates were starting to suspect that he was seeing someone – is that what they were doing, seeing each other? Draco couldn't even begin to think of a proper label for what he and Hermione were doing. It was so insane that there was simply no word for it. But whatever it was, it was catching up to him, because his friends were catching on. Of course they didn't know, and would never begin to imagine, that it was _Hermione Granger_ he was having clandestine encounters with. But they suspected _something_, and they would continue to harass him about it until they got an answer. He'd have to make something up. But what? Naming anybody outside of Slytherin would elicit the scandal he was trying to avoid, and even if he claimed it was some Slytherin, she would soon hear of it and deny the assertion. He'd have to initiate a romance with some Slytherin girl and tell his friends that it had been her all along. Pansy Parkinson had always had a crush on him, but she already suspected. Who, then? Millicent Bulstrode? Wait, wasn't she a lesbian? Okay, that was fine; Draco felt vaguely nauseated at the thought of trying to court her anyway. Daphne Greengrass? She'd do. Draco resolved to begin chatting her up tomorrow, and felt a curious pang of guilt, as if he was betraying Hermione (without realizing it, he'd begun to think of her as Hermione rather than Granger).

But that was absurd. They'd never even begun to define or clarify their relationship, if it could be called that. They simply couldn't. The fact that they were doing _anything_ remotely of that sort together was preposterous enough; they couldn't be officially _together_. Not that he wanted them to be anyway…did he? What exactly did he feel for Hermione Granger? Lust, physically attraction, yes, obviously…but was there anything else? Was he developing an- an _emotional_ attachment to _her_? He was a Slytherin and a Malfoy; he wasn't supposed to develop such feelings for _anyone_, let alone a – a Muggleborn. Draco realized that the word Mudblood now disgusted him.

He also realized that he'd always been impressed by her intelligence – that was why he'd been so confused by the incongruity of his father's assertions about Muggleborn intelligence – or lack thereof – and Hermione's clearly exceptional skill. He'd quickly shoved the observation into his subconscious, but now it had come bursting insistently back into his awareness. And she was feisty, she defended what she believed in – Draco realized he admired that about her, even though until recently he'd scorned everything she and her friends believed in. But now she was making _him_ question everything _he'd_ ever held as true. And he didn't even resent her for it. Merlin help him – was he _falling _for her?

I hope you liked it, but whether you did or not, reviews are greatly appreciated!


	14. Chapter 14

All throughout Potions class the next day, Hermione cowered in her seat, watching Snape warily. It was probably the first time in her entire Hogwarts career that she didn't raise her hand to answer every question. She just stayed silent, correctly brewing a Befuddlement Draught, although she was so distracted she only just caught herself from adding double the necessary amount of beetle eyes. She might as well have imbibed the entire cauldron of the Draught, such was her mental state. When Snape came around to inspect their potions, he merely glanced into her cauldron, ignoring Hermione herself, and moved on. Finally, the period was over.

"Class dismissed", Snape announced. "Oh, except for Mr. Malfoy. I'd like a word."

Draco froze and whipped around to stare in wide-eyed horror at his professor. Hermione, too, paused abruptly in packing up her books and gaped at Snape, then at Draco.

Draco, who was now experiencing acute difficulty in breathing. _Oh Merlin, he's_ _going to – what is he going to do? Tell my father! Oh, I'm done for. I'm a dead man. How could I have been so stupid? Even if I do fancy her – _Draco barely noticed how easily this statement ran through his head, as he stumbled up to the professor's desk. _But it doesn't matter. I still shouldn't have done anything about it, it's too risky, it simply isn't done - _

"So. You and Granger, eh?", Snape said expressionlessly.

Draco cringed. "Please, sir, don't tell my father!", he burst out. "Please! I'll do anything – I – how much do you want?"

Snape's brow furrowed in confusion, then his eyes glinted coldly with indignation.

"You – you think I would _blackmail_ you? Blackmail a student, the son of some of my best friends, no less? Mr. Malfoy, I am offended at this insinuation."

"I – well, no, that's not what I-", Draco babbled in confusion, attempting to backpedal.

"Just leave", Snape snarled in annoyance, much as he had done when he'd caught them. "And no, I won't tell anybody, you stupid boy. But I would advise you to be more discreet in the future, or I won't _have_ to tell anybody."

"Y-yes, sir – I'm sorry, sir –", Draco mumbled as he fled the classroom, unsure what had just happened and even less sure what he could do about the impossible absurdity that had suddenly become his life, courtesy of one Hermione Granger.

When Hermione heard Snape call for Draco to stay after, she froze and dropped a book, which bounced painfully off her toe. She paid this little mind, too stricken with fear of Snape and what he would do in response to his recent discovery of their...secret. What was he going to do to Draco? And why just Draco – why hadn't he asked her to stay, too? Maybe he was going to deal with her later, on her own…oh, how could she have been so stupid? How could _they_ have been so stupid? No matter how attracted they were to each other…

"Oy, Hermione!", Ron called. "You all right?" He and Harry were standing with their bags over their shoulders, poised to leave, and Hermione was still staring, shell-shocked, at Draco and Snape.

"Oh, y-yes, I'm fine. Just – drifted off for a minute", she attempted a casual laugh, which ended up sounding more like a drunk hyena.

"You're still upset about – you know, aren't you?", Harry asked cautiously, jerking his head in Malfoy's direction. "You're traumatized-"

"No, no, really, I'm fine", Hermione insisted. "It was all my fault, anyway. Let's go to lunch, shall we?"

"It wasn't your fault. Not really", Ron soothed. "That bastard could drive anybody to insanity-"

"Yes, of course", Harry agreed. "But, Hermione, if isn't that, why were you staring at Malfoy? You had the strangest look on your face…"

"Oh – um, well", Hermione hedged. They were going to suspect something was wrong – it was a miracle they hadn't already. "Well, I suppose I am a bit upset about it", she amended to placate her friends. She had the strangest urge to stay, to stand with Draco as he faced Snape. After all, they were both equally responsible for this fiasco. But she supposed that would probably just make things even worse, and what excuse for staying could she give to Harry and Ron? As they left the classroom, Hermione shot one last panicked, apologetic glance at Draco, who was now slowly approaching Snape's desk. She was the smartest student in their class, and Draco was not far behind. Apparently academic intelligence and real-life common sense did not necessarily come together.

Hermione sat in the Gryffindor common room later that afternoon, consumed with guilt for leaving Draco. She realized she had to meet with him, to apologize for leaving him at Snape's dubious mercy. He'd probably never want anything to do with her again – well, that solved the problem of their relationship, anyway. But a jolt of startlingly intense melancholy shot through Hermione at the thought of never kissing Draco again, of returning to their former hostility – but how could they? How could they possibly go back to being enemies, even if they didn't continue with…what they'd been doing…

_I'll send him a note, _she decided. _I'll send him a note using one of the school owls, and ask him to meet me somewhere tonight. He might not show up, but I have to try. _


	15. Chapter 15

Draco stirred his soup broodingly, pondering his confusing encounter with Snape. It certainly hadn't gone as he'd expected – in fact, in some ways it hadn't been nearly as bad as he'd thought it would. But Snape had actually seemed more upset at Draco's attempt at bribery than at the circumstance he'd caught him in in the first place…It had been stupid to offer him money for his silence, but Draco had just panicked – He jumped as something landed on his head. He plucked a small square of paper out of his hair, and saw a scrawny owl fluttering away.

"Stupid school owls", he muttered. "Can't even deliver a letter properly."

He unfolded the note carelessly, still preoccupied with Snape, and then was jolted to attention as he scanned the words.

"_I'm so sorry. Please meet me outside the library at midnight. I understand if you won't, but please try to forgive me. I just panicked earlier, and I promise I'll help you deal with whatever happens_ _from now on_."

It wasn't signed, but there was no doubt who it was from. Why did she think he was angry with her? Draco frowned in perplexity. _Whatever happens_? He supposed that meant Snape…or did it? What was she on about? Draco shook his head, weary with apprehension and confusion. He'd just have to find out at midnight.

At a quarter to midnight, Draco stole cautiously out of the Slytherin common room, having cast a muffling charm on his shoes, and made his way up to the library. He found Hermione huddled in the shadows, tugging at her hair nervously. She glanced up at his approach, and immediately rushed towards him.

"I'm so sorry I didn't stay with you – I should have, I just-"

"Don't be ridiculous. There was no reason for you to stay. He asked _me_ to stay. Just me."

"Yes, but I'm just as responsible as y-", Hermione was cut off by Draco placing a finger over her lips.

"Shhh…I didn't come here to listen to you babble senseless and unnecessary apologies."

Hermione stared at Draco, arousal already beginning to course through her body, Draco's finger still pressed against her lips. Usually she'd be annoyed at being told to shut up, and at being described as babbling, but he'd said it so gently, and she was so relieved that he, apparently, wasn't angry with her after all…

Instinctively, she stepped closer, and Draco removed his finger from her lips and replaced it with his own. Hermione gasped at the suddenness of the move and the sheer euphoria of the sensation. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him tightly against her, and kissed back with an unrestrained passion. Before, a sense of unease, of disbelief that she was even doing this, had always lingered in the back of her mind, even while she and Draco were exploring each other. But this time, all conscious thought evaporated, and Hermione was lost to the rapture of kissing Draco, running her hands frantically over his body, while he did the same to her. She gasped in startled delight as he slipped his warm fingers under the hem of her shirt, caressing the bare skin of her waist…and then, finally, he pulled away, breathing heavily, and gazed intently into her eyes. He began to stroke the disheveled tendrils of her hair, while Hermione stared up at him in dazed wonder, her body thrilling yet again at the intensity of his expression.

"What is this?", he murmured.

"Us", Hermione responded, feeling that the simple word summed up all that was between them, and, indeed, that words themselves were superfluous.

"Us", Draco repeated, and recaptured her mouth with his own.


End file.
